Month: August 2014

    IT was roses, roses, all the way,   With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,   The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,

    1. SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves

Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a

Say not the struggle nought availeth,      The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth,      And as things have been they remain. If hopes

  I vow to thee, my country,  all earthly things above,  Entire and whole and perfect,  the service of my love;  The love that asks no question,  the love that

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare: Now I hear the cry again, But I cannot tell from where. But I cannot tell

OFT, in the stilly night,          Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light          Of other days around me:          The smiles, the tears          Of boyhood’s years,          The words of love then spoken;          The eyes that

Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho!